She’s running as fast as she can, out of breath gasping loudly. Her thundering footsteps can be heard from half a mile away. Her hair pulled back and face as pale as the sun on a scorching noon. The tears dripping from her eyes making her vision blurrier and foggier.

She reaches home, runs upstairs and rushes into her room like a ragging storm. Slamming the door behind her she collapses on the floor and stays there for what seemed like forever. The carpet hair brushing against her left cheek while her eyes are busy in the task of pouring rain upon them. Her gaze is fixed and her eyes are not moving. If someone would see her like that they would think that she has passed out. The time bomb starts ticking in her head. She starts feeling worthless, ugly, unimportant… anything but beautiful and valuable. Her wrists start itching again for the seventh time in this week and it is only Wednesday.

As she’s struggling to get on her knees, her eyes shift to a brownish splotch on the carpet near her. She narrows her eyes to get a vivid image of whatever that spot is.

“What’s that?” she asks herself.

She crawls closer to the stain and looks at it carefully.

“Blood…” the word comes out of her mouth.

She remembers that was the place where she collapsed yesterday just like this and then she cut herself to bleed out the frustration at that very spot. It was like déjà vu. That’s what was happening to her over and over again. She had been told by people on internet that she would get better but she never felt like she was recovering or improving because she was not the one at fault it was the people surrounding her who were. She recollects the time when she got blood on the corner of her white bed sheet and had to clean the whole thing; the time Sierra sat in her lap and the freshly harmed thighs started bleeding through the band-aids and the blood caressed the inside of her favorite blue jeans to the point that it was almost visible.

“Thank God Mom didn’t see it though…” she thought.

Suddenly a recurring thought of hers visited her again. She thought her Mom wouldn’t care in fact no one would. She thought her family was better off without her. This thought had started becoming stronger after the day she talked to her mother about this.

“Get over it sweetie. It’s just hormonal and yeah you’re in your teenage. It happens to most of the girls your age. It’s common you’ll be fine.” Mother said.

“But Maa, it’s a mental illness and mental illness requires medical help. There’s something wrong with me.” She replied.

“That’s just a phase of teenage where girls do all this to get attention and honey I think you’re just craving attention because “depression is the new cool” right? Just go to your room and do your homework”

She’s brought back from the afflicting memories by the sound of her cat, Eleanor scratching her door. She opens the door and lets her in. The cat jumps to the bed and she lies beside her.

“Hey Ellie! You love me, right?” She asks stroking her soft fur.

“Right Ell?”

The cat lets out a meow.

“I love you too Eleanor” she says as her voice cracks.

“I’m living a slow painful death…” she whispers “One day I’ll be able to end it all at once instead of bleeding slowly to death everyday… ”

She stands up and looks at herself in the mirror. The image of an ugly-outside-broken-inside girl staring back at her. She walks to the washroom door and stands there for a moment and stares at Eleanor with tears in her eyes she says “Ell You’re my only friend…” as she closes the door to never open it again.

She finally was brave enough to end the throbbing pain all at once.

 

As the stimuli that provoked her death wrote R.I.P on her facebook timeline.

Author’s Note: When someone tells you about their condition don’t abandon them just because you don’t understand what they feel because how can the sun know what darkness feels like? You might be happy and healthy. Everyone isn’t like that. Don’t just tell them to get over it instead help them recover. It’s better to walk through hell with someone who needs you than to wander in heaven uselessly.

And my dear friends I am not promoting suicide. I want to minimize it. I’ve said it before I’ll say it again

SUICIDE IS NOT THE ANSWER!

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3 thoughts on “Suicide and Regret..

  1. This is the dilemma of our society…even if we say ‘i need to go to a psychiatrist’ tu they will be like what are you mad? You aren’t psycho not knowing that every person needs to consult a psychologist not just mentally ill persons….
    Thanks for sharing such a well expressed vital issue!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, people have so many wrong views about depression nowadays that a person can’t even speak up about his condition or ask for help. It hurts thinking that people don’t understand what a depressed or bullied person feels and why is suicide rate hitting the sky.

      Like

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